All That Matters
by Loco the Exclaimer
Summary: TFA / Animated. Arcee was his daughter - of course he tried to save her. But some things just can't be helped, no matter what you do. This would haunt Ratchet for the rest of his life. Oneshot.


One life for another.

It hardly seemed a fair trade to the medic, who was clutching the Autobot's shoulders, tears falling from his optics, desperately yelling her name. The small, confused protoform sitting in her lap looked up at him with optics wide, curious and unsure, but he barely noticed, sinking to his knees to whisper her name one last time.

"It can't end like this…"

He grabbed her servo, still and cold, before resting his other servo on her chassis, checking desperately for any sign that the spark might still be lit.

Nothing.

The protoform made a small noise, which finally caught the mech's attention, causing him to look down at her.

"Hello, there." He tried to say, but the second word caught in his vocal processors, breaking into a sob halfway through. Reaching out and lifting her into his arms, he looked down at her.

She was, in his eyes, perfect – but what progenitor couldn't look upon their own sparkling with love? Pink and white, tiny and fragile, optics pure and blue.

He began to sob, but his voice caught halfway through. She extended a tiny servo, and he took it with a sad smile.

"Hey…" He said softly. She looked from his servo up to his face, making a questioning noise. "I-I'm your progenitor. I'm Ratchet."

She blinked. "Raa-cha?"

He laughed softly, but the sound felt hollow and cold, tears still framing his face. "You'll get it."

He leaned forward, pulling his servo away from hers to gently touch the helm of the offlined Autobot before him. She was just too weak- too sick- her body just couldn't take the strain—he should have seen this coming…

The tiny sparkling squirmed in his arms, yawning. He looked back down at her, the one thing he had left of the one he loved.

"Arcee."

Arcee powered on her optics, looking up at him, and he could have sworn she had understood.

_You were all I had left of her, and I let that happen…_

X.x.X.x.X

Ratchet swore to protect his sparkling from the very first day, and took care of her as best he could. He had only completed his medical training a few stellar cycles before she had been born, but now, only fifteen hundred stellar cycles later, already he was considered one of the best medics in the army.

Being as this was, he was off on many missions where he was unable to take his sparkling, leaving her at the base with a very close friend. It was therefore inevitable what she soon decided.

"Hey, Doc?"

Ratchet turned with a smile, pleased to see Arcee, the brightest light still shining in his function. Doc was a nickname she had taken to calling him – unlike humans, Cybertronians have no set name for their progenitors.

"Hey, there, Arcee," he said, pulling her into a hug. "What do you need?"

"I've decided something."

"Go." He pulled back to watch her face, his servos rested on her shoulders.

"I want to become a soldier."

He could only stare for several moments, easily able to tell from her serious gaze that this was no joke. She had inherited a stone will from both progenitors, and he did not look forward to the debate that would no doubt ensue.

"Why?" He asked, thinking ahead to pick his questions and words carefully.

"I want to be able to help people and protect, like you do. I'm no use just sitting around here anyway." She said. It was obvious that she had been planning to ask for some time now; this was clearly not one of her spontaneous ideas. "I don't want to spend my whole function waiting for the war to be fought for me."

"You've thought about this?" He pressed. "You know what could happen? What you'll see? What you'll hear? What you'll do? Soldiers _kill_ and _die_, Arcee – I don't want that to happen to you."

"I- I know, but… Soldiers also _save_ and _preserve_, Doc. If everyone left it to someone else, what would we have left?"

His servos tightened around her shoulders as he stared into her optics, considering the determination held within. After long, agonizing moments, he pulled her into another hug.

"Alright… alright."

_I regret what I did, not that day but most._

X.x.X.x.X

Arcee began training at sixteen hundred stellar cycles, and before she had reached twenty four hundred, she was one of the Elite Guard's most important intelligence officers. Of course, working in such different departments, she and her progenitor rarely saw each other.

Two hundred stellar cycles later, they even lost touch for a long while, and neither would have thought of, or hoped for, the way they next met.

Lying injured deep in the battlefield, she found herself sitting at the bottom of a pit, optics powered off, trying not to scream from the pain. The entire lower half of her left stabilizing servo was gone, ripped off somewhere back across the battlefield. Fluids were leaking everywhere, bright pink staining the ground.

So great was the pain, she didn't even hear a thud nearby as someone landed in the ditch with her, then ran over. A servo landed on her shoulder, and she gasped, her optics powering on.

"Doc."

Ratchet smiled at her, but only briefly before he bent beside her stabilizing servo, examining the damage.

"Can you move it?" He asked, glancing up at her.

"A little… not really." She tried, but stopped herself with a wince.

"Don't move it yet!"

"Sorry."

A loud explosion sounded, practically rocking the battlefield, and sending more than a few small stones cascading down towards them.

"We'd better get going." Ratchet said, looking up at the rim of the pit, wondering how many more blasts like that a broken and beaten hollow like this could take. He pulled out his EMP generator. "Here. I'm going to use this to put you under for awhile."

She nodded, watching the small device as she slipped into stasis lock. Ratchet transformed, using his magnets to lift her into the back of his ambulance alt-mode. Satisfied that she was alright, he paused. Above, the battle was still raging, too dangerous to risk traveling. He had been sent to protect the data she possessed, the invaluable codes she knew – but above all, she was his sparkling, and he would not let her get hurt.

Tunnels below would be safer, and that was the route he would have to take. Turning, he drove off into the darkness.

_I made mistakes, and they cost me. Cost _you_, and for that…_

X.x.X.x.X

Ratchet could never be certain what happened next. One moment he was driving along, Arcee safe in the back, the next he had transformed, fighting off a mech who called himself Lockdown, after that… nothing.

The memories were a blur; fighting desperately for all he had left; Lockdown's cold, unforgiving smile; a sense of dread and the unbearable knowledge of _failure_. That he had broken his vow to protect her, that they were now in the servos of a Decepticon, that they were now in the most dangerous position an Autobot can _be_ in, and that there was nothing he could do about it-

Time raced past for his barely conscious mind, until he finally awoke, to a quiet room, and his brave, brave sparkling beside him, servos stiff by her sides. It took him a moment to realize that they were both strapped down, and another to fully process what had happened.

"Arcee?"

Her helm turned quickly, optics focusing on his face. "You're awake. Doc, I—"

"So you're both finally awake, huh?" Came a new voice, dark and cruel, a kind of cold amusement in it. Both Autobots turned. "Name's Lockdown. And you, I take it, are Arcee and Doc?"

"Ratchet," growled the medic, unwilling to part with even that bit of information but not about to have a _Decepticon_ calling him by his sparkling's special nickname.

"Right, Ratchet." Lockdown said, waving a servo and clearly not giving a drone's aft.

"What are you going to do with us?" Arcee asked, clenching her servos. He strode over to her, raising an optic ridge.

"Good question. See, I'm something of a bounty hunter – I catch Autobots and trade 'em to the Decepticons in exchange for upgrades." He began with a smirk, clearly enjoying himself, and killing some time. "But what I'm really in it for is the _trophies_."

"Trophies?" Ratchet repeated, not sure he wanted to know. Turns out, he didn't.

"Yeah, trophies. See, whenever I catch an Autobot, I take their personal upgrades and modifications as trophies – sort of a mark of accomplishment for me. Like, for example, this EMP generator." He held up the device, and Ratchet's optics widened.

"Doc, that's—" Arcee began, but Lockdown cut her off.

"She, on the other servo, didn't really have anything I wanted." He shrugged, turning to face Arcee. "You've gotta have some pretty important data in that processor of yours, though. Megatron himself is gonna be the one interrogating you."

He paused, glancing over at a computer set on the wall. A small icon was blinking, though what it was indicating was anyone's guess. Frowning, he set down the EMP generator and walked over to it.

Arcee watched after him for a moment before grabbing the EMP generator with one servo and tossing it to Ratchet.

"Here, Doc… take this, and wipe my memory core."

"_What_?!" His optics widened, not quite believing he had heard her correctly.

"You heard me, Doc. They can't get these codes, they're too important—"

"But Arcee—!"

"Megatron will see you now." Lockdown said tauntingly, approaching. Ratchet looked over – he would be here in moments, there would be no other time-

He didn't even remember raising his arm- there was a blast, a flash of light- his own voice sounding of it's own accord, caught between a plea to Primus and a scream for help. Lockdown was in front of him, trying to get the EMP generator away; he fired it, full blast- another flash, an explosion- then nothing.

_I tried my hardest, I really did-_

X.x.X.x.X

The next thing he knew, Ratchet was helping Arcee down the ramp out of Lockdown's ship. He didn't have the EMP generator, nor was he even sure how they'd gotten out online, but the important thing was, they had.

At the bottom, he found himself still in the battlefield, a little farther away from the action, Arcee still limping, one servo around his shoulders for balance.

"Are you alright, Arcee?" He asked, turning to look at her. She seemed confused by the question.

"I… think so. Who's Arcee? Do I know her? And you, who are you?"

His spark twisted with grief. His stabilizing servos could no longer support him, and he sank to the ground. "I'm so sorry, Arcee…"

_I'm so, so sorry…_

X.x.X.x.X

He'd worked. Talked to some of the greatest medics on Cybertron. Tried and tried himself. For almost a hundred stellar cycles, he refused to give up, trying and trying to find a way to restore what he'd lost.

It had now been two thousand stellar cycles. The Great War had ended, and he found himself out in deep space, assigned to a meaningless task of repairing space bridges on the rim of the galaxy with a rag-tag group of bots. Most of them had been kicked out of the Elite Guard, he had learned. He himself wouldn't give a word of his own history – it was too painful.

Arcee…

He had promised to protect her, promised to keep her from harm, and had ultimately _failed_ her. He no longer deserved to function. The assignment to a space bridge repair crew would have been a blow to most bots; to him, it was a welcome relief. No longer having to fight, or see reminders of what he lost.

None of the others would understand, so he didn't tell them. But inside, he felt offline. Each night, in his dreams, he saw it all over again – a fate worse than death that he could never escape.

But he deserved it, for being unable to fulfill his promise.

_I love you, Arcee._

_Please…_

_Forgive me._


End file.
